


Wasteland

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Lucifer (Comic)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-25
Updated: 2008-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-25 02:08:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1625954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The outer plains of Hell are dry and vacant, a ring of rust-red deserts stretching toward infinity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wasteland

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The characters in this story were created by Neil Gaiman and expanded by Mike Carey in the "Lucifer" universe. I own absolutely nothing, and meant no harm when writing this story.   
>  Note: This takes place after Christopher Rudd is crowned as the King of Hell.   
> A big thank you goes out to my fabulous betas: Llwyden and moontyger. Also a GIANT thank you to the ENTIRE IRC chat, for being hilariously awesome while I flailed wildly.
> 
> Written for L_Syllabub

 

 

The outer plains of Hell are dry and vacant, a ring of rust-red deserts stretching toward infinity. The sky is dark and hollow, like the inside of a skull, and the wind howls ceaselessly between the sand dunes, whipping the earth into a dusty froth. 

It is on these outer plains that Remiel walks, his wings sagging in defeat, trailing two parallel lines in the red sand. He is without clothing; the winds are cold and harsh out on the edge of Hell, and his ethereal robes were torn from his body long ago. His hair shines auburn in the dim light, the silver-blond strands powdered through with sand.

Lucifer descends toward the ground slowly, the winds spinning and twisting around him, so that his wings remain pure white and his suit remains immaculately clean.

"I didn't think I would find you out here, Remiel," he says, when his shoes finally leave footprints in the sand. "I _felt_ you, of course; I just didn't _expect_ you."

Remiel ignores him, trudging onward through the dirt, his wings now folded tightly against his body, protecting him from the winds.

"You don't have to be like this, you know," Lucifer says, conversationally. He is walking upon the sand, without sinking into it the way Remiel is, and his pace is a slow and comfortable amble. "You don't have to play the martyr."

Remiel whirls around to face Lucifer, meeting the Morningstar's calm gaze with angry, bloodshot eyes. He flicks his wrist, whipping a strand of scraggly, wind-torn hair from his face.

"I am not electing to play _anything_ , Lucifer." He snarls, teeth grinding. "I was cast _out_."

"So I've heard." Lucifer smiles.

"I was subverted," Remiel continues, ranting. "I was deposed, _overthrown_ ," he sags, his wings drooping. "And I don't even know _why_."

"I suspect you became too ambitious," Lucifer says, examining his nails. "That tends to be the problem."

" _Ambitious_?" Remiel snaps. "I never _wanted_ it, Lucifer. I never _asked_ for this responsibility; I never wanted to oversee the afterlife of mortals."

"Neither did I."

"But you _deserved_ it." Remiel's voice is cracking now, and his eyes are welling with tears. "I never rebelled, Lucifer; I never stood against the Name. I worshipped _faithfully_ ; I fulfilled my Function as demanded. And what was my _reward_? I was thrown out. I was made to _fall_!" His knees give, finally, and he collapses onto the earth, fingers clutching at sand. "I was cast out from Heaven, and I was told I could never again set foot in the Silver City, never again perform my Function. I was no longer an _Angel_ , Lucifer, do you know how that feels?"

Lucifer's voice is completely deadpan. "I have an idea, yes."

"And then—" Remiel sobs, shoulders shaking. "Even in Hell, I—I tried to _honor_ His Name. I did everything for _Him_ , Lucifer. I created the reformation as a testament to His Benevolence, I, I—" He wipes his face, but the tears keep pouring. "I wanted to make Hell another stronghold of Faith. I wanted a revolution, I wanted _redemption_. I tried, Lucifer, I tried so _hard_. And then Yahweh _left_. And Duma, he, he—"

Remiel bows his head, resting it on the cold sand and letting his tears wet the earth freely. He cries for his past: for the lights of the Silver City that have long since faded from his memory, for the warmth of His Presence, for the hope of turning Hell into a place of salvation. He cries for his present, because he is cold and alone, and cast out from all familiarity. He cries for his future, because it is uncertain.

Remiel cries silently, openly, because it is the only thing he _can_ do. 

Lucifer's face is carefully blank, but his voice is gentle. "So you are welcome neither in Heaven nor Hell, Remiel. Where will you go now?"

The silence falls, heavy and thick.

The only noise is the wet, pathetic sound of Remiel's weeping.

It seems like an eternity before Remiel finally pulls himself together enough to sit up. He tilts his head upward, eyes focusing uncertainly on Lucifer's face, then the dark sky beyond.

"You may come with me, if you wish," Lucifer finally says. "The hellkin are allying themselves with the Host, to march against the Lilim and save this creation from destruction. We could use your aid."

Remiel turns away, staring off into the distance, his eyes unfocused and wet.

"No, Lucifer. I will not join you." Remiel forces himself to stand on shaking legs, his fingers balling into fists. "My God has _forsaken_ me. Not once, but three times. He has taken _everything_ from me—" He forces himself to stop, in case he loses control again. A deep, shuddering sigh, and Remiel wipes the tearstains from his face, smudging his skin with dirt. "I will not join you. I have washed my hands of His business, Lucifer, and that includes _your_ business as well."

The angel stumbles down the sand dune, his feet dragging, wings drooping toward the ground.

"Then where will you _go_?" Lucifer calls after him, watching with curiosity. "Where else _is_ there?"

  
Remiel walks away, and does not answer.

 


End file.
